Between Gasps
by homesickpirate
Summary: France has been acting rather weird, lately. But England doesnt care until the moment he is pulled into a storage closet, and France kisses the living daylights out of him. Warning: Yaoi


**This was just my thoughts on world maps= porn. Also, this is the closest i've ever written to smut. Sorry if it's not graphic enough.**

**Disclaimer: I don't have an England tied to my bed... or anyone from Hetalia. Aw darn.**

It was a fine day outside, the birds were singing, the sun was shining. It was a perfect day to be outside. But not for England. Not, in fact, for any country. For they were all stuck. In a world meeting.

England pulled at his tie uncomfortably. The air was hot and humid, and the last time he had checked the weather, it had been 98 degrees, not something that the Londoner was used to. He stared scathingly at America, perfectly comfortable and not even noticing the heat, and he wished that he had states as hot as California too. But he didn't, and the only place he could think of that was like him in America was Seattle, the city of perpetual rain. Come to think of it, England did notice that America's left arm had goose bumps on him. He blushed, realizing where his thoughts could go. As a country, the geography matched the body of the personification- in every place.

England shoved the thoughts out of his mind and tried to concentrate on the meeting. He vaguely listened to Germany's detailed ideas of how to properly organize the world, but mainly he was just trying not to pass out from overheating. Strangely enough, France wasn't bothering him today. In fact, he was just staring blankly at his phone. His cheeked looked suspiciously flushed, but that was likely due to the heat, England mused. Even France, a country that could get pretty warm, was feeling this unnatural weather. His hair was damp and stuck to his face, and a droplet of sweat rolled down his face as he panted, laboring to breathe- oh Dear. Stop it, England! He mentally smacked himself. You cannot think about the frog this way, he scolded himself. He was not attractive, he was an ugly, cheese smelling surrendering, French froggy idiot- suddenly France looked up at him, and he realized that he had been staring. He snapped his head away and fidgeted, feeling somehow that France was smirking at him. He kept his eyes on his paper for the remainder of the meeting, and rushed out as soon as it was over, not even waiting to say goodbye to America.

He hurried towards his car, where he knew that he would soon be relieved from this blasted heat by his air conditioner. He heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the doors; he had made it without any disturbances! And then he felt a hand grab his arm. He whirled around to see France staring at him and gripping him almost painfully by the arm. France's breath looked labored, and he was definitely more flushed than he should be. England tried to pull away, but Frances grip was too strong- stronger than he remembered. His mental warning sirens were already going off, and he was beginning to worry, what was France cooking up this time?

"Eat lunch with me" France asked, deadpan. It wasn't a question; it was a statement, a command. Somehow the thought of France commanding him sent a strange feeling through his stomach. His hair sticky on his face, the way his pink lips were slightly parted, his half lidded eyes- oh no. Not again. England knew he had to get out of this situation before his gentlemanly nature was compromised and he let France do something. Wait, he wouldn't let France take advantage of him! It must be the heat, confusing him. That's what it was. Either way, he knew that he had to get out of there fast; otherwise something really bad would happen. He tried to jerk his hand away from France, but to no avail. France was still stronger than him Blimey.

"I- I-I h-have to go" he stuttered out breathlessly, blushing like a schoolgirl. But France didn't say anything back, or let go of his arm. He just turned and began dragging England down the hall, away from his car! England stumbled after, trying to pry the Frenchman's fingers off of him

"H-hey wait!" he cried out, struggling, even as he was losing, "you can't do this! Unhand me you bastard!"

Suddenly, he was pulled into what looked like a small dark storage closet. "France!" He yelled, almost scared now, "What on earth – ow" he felt a sharp smack of pain on his arse, and he realized that France had slapped it. "Tais- toi, Angleterre" he said quietly, pulling him, struggling against his chest.

"What? You idiot, I don't speak French you stupid- ow! Bloody hell! That hurt" another smack was felt on his arse. Again?! England felt the man's chest begin to rumble as he chuckled darkly. "It was meant to hurt, petit lapin" France grabbed his hair, causing England to gasp in pain. "And I said, shut up, England" England didn't want to do what France said, by any means, but at this point he was gaping like a fish, as he became aware of just how compromising his situation was. Here he was, the perfect English gentleman, flush up against a crazy France's chest, with a throbbing arse and in a storage closet of all things! Yet somehow, he was still aroused. He tried to fight back the feeling, push away the whirls in his belly and the way too obvious discomfort in his trousers. But to no avail. He was too far gone. But one thing still lingered in his mind. What had brought on this suddenly horny France? Well, that was the wrong wording. France was always horny, but to go this far? Something dramatic must have happened.

Gasping for air, England tried to form the question on his lips, "What, the hell, France? Where did this come from, all of a sudden" France just laughed again and flicked him on the forehead.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" he teased. England struggled to pull himself somewhat away and looked straight at France, about to open his mouth and let the bastard have it, because he was fed up, and- ohhh. France shoved his knee up in his groin. But not shoved, like, trying to hurt him, but he more like pressed, and wiggled his knee around, and it felt so damn good. And then suddenly the feeling was gone, and France released him. He fell, groaning into the wall behind him, not even caring about how he looked anymore. France held up his phone, showing him a photo.

"You would like to know why, oui?" France shoved the phone in his face and he struggled to open his eyes to see exactly what the photo was of. It was – oh. It was a map of England. So France had been looking at porn. Of him. That explained everything.

France pulled the phone out of his face and moved up in front of him. He could see the sadistic look dissipate from France's eyes and fade to something gentle and kind. "Tu es… beautiful" He whispered, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from England's face. England just turned his head, blushing, and ruining the moment. "You're not too bad yoursel-mphpghi!" He was cut off by a mouth moving on top of his own, and arms holding him around his waist. Instinctively, he reached up to grab the man's shoulders, and pulled his legs up around the Frenchman's waist. Unexpectedly, he felt France's cold hand reach up his shirt and he let out a moan, giving France a chance to reach his tongue into his mouth. Their tongues immediately began battling for dominance, dancing with each other in a war of supremacy. Finally, after a few tense moments, he seceded, and allowed France to take over. He rolled his head back, as he felt France explore the entirety of his mouth. He couldn't deny that France was not half bad. Maybe, he allowed himself to think, he was actually quite good. But he'd never say that out loud. But still, feelings of doubt lingered in his mind. He knew that France was just using him, that he was nothing more than a quick fuck, and more than anything, this was what bothered him. He pulled his head away, ignoring his bodies' protests.

"No," he moaned, turning his face away from the ever persistent France.

"Why not?" France asked impatiently, beginning to nuzzle his ears. And then he licked one. England gasped.

"Oh! Because you're just- ah! Using me. Sex is for love" He managed to get out, trying to ignore France's ministrations on his body. All of a sudden France stopped, and stared at him, for a good long while. England tried to stare back, but after a moment, looked down, embarrassed. France probably thought he was stupid; after all, countries did this casually all the time. But the problem wasn't with casual sex. The problem was that England actually had a sort of secret crush on France, and he didn't want to be used- that would kill him. To his surprise, France didn't laugh at him, or push him back into the wall and continue, or walk out in disgust- he just shook his head and sighed, reaching out to touch England's face gently.

"Oh, Mon petit. Tu ne sais pas mon amour pour toi," France whispered. England just blushed. In all reality, he did know what France had just said, and it took him off guard. He just shoved his head into France's shirt, and muttered "Love you too, Frog". France chuckled and leaned back, too expose England's hiding face. England felt him gently take hold of his chin and angle his face up, and reach down to kiss him softly-

"Wait!" he yelled. France sighed again, this time out of frustration.

"Mon Dieu! What is it this time?" England just let out a hmph and refused to make eye contact.

"We are not having sex in a storage closet." he said firmly.

"Quoi!" France yelled, and then suddenly calmed. "Fine, we'll have it your way, Angletere" suddenly England saw the world turn and confused, realized he was thrown over France's shoulder and suddenly they were moving quickly. He began kicking and punching out of habit, yelling and cussing any and all obscenities he knew. "France, what in the bloody hell are you doing? Put me down at once!"

France just kept on moving towards the elevator, and spoke amusedly. "I am in a great position to smack your derrière. So I wouldn't fight it if I were you. And of course we are going to my room, which is upstairs- since closets aren't good enough for you! Onhonhonhon"

England gave up and lay across his back pouting, and trying to prepare himself mentally for what he knew was going to be a very long night ahead of him. Obviously, he had lost this battle. But somehow, as he felt the warmth in his chest and France's arms holding him tightly, he had a vague feeling that he had actually won.


End file.
